Percy Jackson: The Thief of Lightning
by labonath151
Summary: If you can read this, you are too close. That's better. If you are reading this, you are either literate or magical. And possible a Demi-God, but, you know, that's unlikely. This is about me. I am a Demi-God. And I don't always go on adventures, but when I do, I publish stories about them. This is my story. And if you are still awake, congratulations. Take a read now, if you DARE!


PERCY JACKSON

AND THE OLYMPIANS

THE LIGHTNING THIEF

Or

THE THIEF OF LIGHTNING

Whatever floats your boat

Or

Whatever boats your float

A story about a boy named Percy Jackson and someone who steals lightning. I know, it sounds ridiculous.

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**This is my parody story about Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Theif. It is much similar to my other published parodies, inasmuch as I will be rewriting the story from a new type of perspective. I hope you find this to be an original and interesting story, and check out my other ones too. My most popular right now is The Hunger Games, and I have some more planned. The first chapter deals with Mrs. Dodds, Mr. Brunner, a magical pen, and Pants.**

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**Chapter 1: I Accidentally do an Action Which is Quite Obviously Purposeful**

Hello ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, people of all ages, races, etc., blah blah blah. If you are reading this because you think you might be a Half-Blood or whatever you call it, then you are reading this for the wrong reason, depending upon your social class, race, income level, and various other factors. My advice to you is this: continue reading the book. I mean, why would I write a book if I don't want people to read it? It makes absolutely no sense at all! I like tacos. So, anyway, if you happen to be a normal person, then you probably are not scared of being killed by monsters. But, there still are the dangers of drunk drivers, dangerously-built bridges, particularly sharp screwdrivers, and poor metabolism. So being a Half-Blood is dangerous, but it is even more so because you can be killed from monsters _and_ screwdrivers. Remember Cousin Edith? She died because she got bitten by a Hellhound and hit in the brain with a screwdriver at the same time. But back to my story.

I didn't want to be a Half-Blood. But, then again, my mother and father didn't ask me before I was born whether I wanted to be born Half-Blood. If you feel something stirring deep inside you, then you should either talk to your doctor, a registered podiatrist (if it's deep inside your foot), chiropractor, or another mentally-challenged person. By the way, my name is Percy Jackson. Not that I'm the main character or anything, just an afterthought. I am twelve years old. According to my birth certificate. Until a few months ago (and by months, I mean months) I was a student at Fancy Pantsy Academy for the Mentally Challenged. It's basically a private school for troubled children in upstate New York. Am I troubled? Definitely.

I can start anywhere in my short miserable life (Yes, my life is short and miserable. We can tell how perfectly this book is going to end considering I die in a few months.), but I will choose to start it at the present moment: I am dead. No, I'll actually start it the day I learned that my best friend is actually a satyr. Not that I'm giving away any plot points at all. Anyway, it was last May when my sixth-grade class took a field trip to a museum in Manhattan. Yes, taking about twenty-eight mentally-deranged and pretty much neurotic children to a very boring in one of the densest cities of the world. And we were on a purple jail truck, a colour which upsets so many people, on our way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at statues and boring things like that. Like any other field trip, it was bound to be like torture. And I had particularly low hopes because the most boring teacher in the whole school – Mr. Brunner – was going to be accompanying to add useless commentary and try and show off with his worthless knowledge to all the mental children.

Mr. Brunner was our Latin/History/Geography teacher who had been at Pantsy for longer than anyone could remember. With the short-term memories of several of the students, that could have ranged from one hour to five months. At least I can remember my life, something several of the other stupid (pardon the term) can't. Mr. Brunner was this extremely old person whom everyone knew should have retired at least 50 years ago. His hair was graying and he claimed to be perfectly fit, although those strange sounds he sometimes made when no one was looking said the opposite. He wore a tight-fitting sweat shirt with usually a grey t-shirt underneath, and his underwear was always longer than his short shorts. In general, he was not taken seriously by anyone. Oh yeah, and he was in a wheelchair. So everyone made fun of him, which was very cool.

But even so, with all these terrible factors, I was not excited for this field trip. Because every field trip in which I participate, something bad happens which usually almost kills me. Sometimes it maims me quite severely, but that's something else. Like, in Grade 1 when I was a pupil at "Home for Stupid People Academy", we went on a field trip to the Aquarium of Intensely Dangerous Fish. The guy handed me the bazooka, what else was I to do? I mean, when there is a target that says "aim for this target", what else do you do? That was my first expulsion.

But I knew that something different was about to happen today! Ok, in reality, I didn't. But I was wrong! Or was I? I DON'T KNOW! Writing stories in the first person is just so not classy anymore. But I have to. Anyway, back to the story. I was sitting in our purple jail truck with my best friend Grover. Ok, well, I had better explain why our jail truck is purple. One day one of the special students (that's another story) from a foreign country (don't ask me which one) threw up on the truck, and he had just had some yummy grape juice (food poisoning included). Of course, the yucky barf stained the truck, so they painted it purple. Either that or Nancy Yew painted it purple when she was on the loose. In any case, we were in our purple jail truck trucking down the street in New York to some boring museum.

"Bob likes cheese. Bob is going to eat the cheese. Where is the cheese? CHEESE!" That's Grover. He is my… em, friend, if you can even call him friend. You see, he came at the beginning of this year and he was put into a special class because he has extra special problems with his brain. Of course, me being the newest kid also, they paired us up together. At least, Brunner did. The strange thing: as he paired us up, he did a little "HOOAH!" I don't want to know what that means.

"Grover, shut up. I hope you die in a hole today and that your intestines are washed into a nearby sewer." I can't help it, he's just such an idiot, I have to insult him once in a while. I just hope he doesn't go insane and murder me in my sleep one night. It had better not be soon, though, because I still haven't eaten a taco. Surprisingly.

"OK Percy, I hope you die too! Wouldn't that be fun? NURGHEEURDEE!" This is turning out to be a bad field trip.

Finally we arrive after hours of a girl throwing sandwiches at the back of my head in a futile attempt to make me vomit out the window. Don't ask me why. I think her name is Nancy Booboostupid, but I could be wrong.

After several paragraphs of useless dialogue that I won't include in this novel due to my editor (his name is Bob. If you've read The Hunger Games: A Parody of the Hunger Games, you'll understand.), we arrive at the museum. It is a huge thing, maybe the size of the White House. Maybe I can throw one of my epic smoke bombs into the crowd and mysteriously disappear…

After at least four hours of Mr. Brunner talking about statues and things we go outside to eat lunch. There was some sort of conversation with Brunner about how important Greek mythology will be to me, but that's secondary. Then the tour guide spoke in Latin to me, and I was like "WHOA! Did you just speak in Latin?" And then he was like "WOAH! The badgers are stealing the cheese!" So I just thought he was tripping out on something. Maybe he was off on a magical adventure in Mario-Land. Random.

So, finally, I am eating my lunch. Grover is curling himself up into a ball and making strange grunting noises, so I just leave him there with his home-made pickled grapes. Then suddenly, out of the front doors, a wild Mrs. Dodds appears! Mrs. Dodds uses "Percy Jackson, come here right now!" It is effective. I walk up the steps slowly, as the sunsets. Wait, the sun is setting? It must be pretty late in the day. I am so observant. I follow Ms. Dodds and we suddenly are in a room filled with art! But the strangest thing that happens is…

MRS. DODDS TURNS INTO A HUGE SCARY CREEPY DEMONIC MANIACAL BEAST! Whoops, sorry, my caps lock was turned on. But, really, she turns into this huge dragon-like creature. And then she starts talking.

"I told you that they were my potatoes that you ate! Because you ate my potatoes, I am going to murder you in cold blood and no one will suspect me!" So I pull out a video camera and start recording her. But the video camera turns out to show something that is really strange: a cotton candy machine. Strange. Maybe it's the Mist! How do I know that?

Suddenly, a not-so-wild-but-still-strange-person appears – it's the Brunner-Man! And he has a stick!

"PUT DOWN THE STICK MR. BRUNNER! Remember what happened with the scissors?" He hands me a pen.

"HOOOOWAHH! It's a pen Percy, not a stick. And when you uncap it, it turns into a magical sword!" He uncaps the pen and a sword made of bronze appears, I don't know how though, it's all very mystical. And all this time, Mrs. Dodds in her demonic form has been waiting patiently for us to finish our conversation.

"Ok, now say come at me bro," she says.

"But you're not a bro, you're a madam!" I say pleadingly. She sighs.

"Fine. I will just try and kill you then." She comes at me, so I raise my sword and she jumps on it. She disintegrates into a trillion million gazillion whamillion pieces.

"Want some ice cream?" Mr. Brunner says from his wheelchair, and then rolls out of the room. As I leave, a statue winks at me and turns into purple dust.


End file.
